Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction: Bedded by Blackmail / Millionaire's Secret Seduction

When she hesitated, he tipped up her chin with a knuckle. “An accusation of what, Ella?”

She swallowed. “Matricide.”

“You?” When she nodded, Tristan laughed. “That’s absurd.” His amused expression dropped. “What evidence did they have?”

“More or less just Scarpini’s accusation.”

“More or less?”

“I administered morphine to my mother for the pain. Scarpini said I overdosed her. I had her prescribed supply but he said, because I’d known a doctor, I could access more.”

“What reason could you have for killing your terminally ill mother?”

“Scarpini was livid I hadn’t given in to his threats. Whether he’d called the police to intimidate me, or he’d hoped that they’d actually charge me, I don’t know. But he told them I was tired of looking after her. That she was about to change her will and I wanted it all.”

“The worst kind of gold digger,” Tristan murmured gravely.

His pupils dilated until his eyes were burning black coals. When he finally spoke, his voice was danger-ously low. “How long have you known this man?”

She was a little taken aback. “I told you. Just weeks before my mother died.”

He nodded, but the slope of his brows said he needed to absorb it. Could she blame him? His mind must be reeling.

“Tomorrow,” he said, “we’ll go to the police.”

“No. Please.”

She couldn’t forget the way the officers had looked at her the day after her mother’s funeral, as if, despite the lack of evidence, she was nonetheless a criminal. All those disgusting questions, the sensation of having her heart ripped out and trodden on again. She’d only ever tried to help her mother, yet she would always remember the cold suspicion shining in their eyes.

Mud sticks.

“Ella, this man isn’t going to back off without a less-than-friendly nudge.”

“I couldn’t bear to go through all that again. The questions, the looks, riffling through the details of my mother’s illness…”

He studied her pleading gaze for a long moment then nodded once. “It goes against my better judgment…but, all right. Only on the condition that if he calls again, you tell me straightaway. Now—” his hand curved around her jaw, “—I don’t want you to worry, okay?”

She eased out a shaky breath. “I’ll try.”

And she did feel a little better. But the best remedy for worry, she’d discovered long ago, was keeping busy.

Her gaze skated toward the table. She’d lost her appetite and after that episode she wouldn’t be much company. “I’ll clear the table.”

Crossing over, she swept up her plate, then his. When she turned, he was behind her.

He took both plates and set them resolutely on the table. “The dishes can wait. We have wine to finish.”

Mere inches divided their bodies but with that call still echoing through her mind…

She touched her clammy forehead. “I think I’ve had enough wine.”

“Are you that eager to get to the dishwasher?”

“No.” He grinned at her quick reply and she smiled weakly back. “It’s habit, I guess.”

“There’ll be a dance floor and music tomorrow night.” He paused. “Do you dance, Ella?”

She gave him a knowing smile. “You’re trying to take my mind off of that phone call.”

His head slanted. “Be that as it may…” He waited for her answer.

“I…have danced,” she admitted.

With a playful tilt to his mouth, he measured her hesitant expression. “But not recently.”

“Seems like a hundred years.”

She bit her lip. Too much information.

“Do you know how to waltz?”

She didn’t want to make a fool of herself—or him. “I’m really not very good.”

“Then perhaps we ought to practice. I can put on some music in the living room.” He took a step closer and the edge of his warm hand brushed against hers. “Or we could practice here.”

The intercom buzzed, loud and unexpected enough for Ella’s stomach to jackknife to her throat. She swung toward the door.

Oh Lord. It was Scarpini wanting in at the entrance gates, she just knew it.

Annoyed at yet another interruption, Tristan groaned and headed for the intercom panel.

“I can get it,” she called after him.

“I’ll get it. And if it happens to be your Mr. Scarpini, I’m more than ready for him.”

Ella’s knees turned to jelly. Eight months of calm, now the world was spinning out of control.

She straightened and pinned back her shoulders.

Whatever came, be damned if she would stand in the background, quaking in her shoes.

She followed Tristan to the intercom.

“Hello.” Tristan waited a beat before one hand clenched at his side. “Hello, who is this?”

The reply was deep and familiar, but not in the way Ella expected. It sounded somehow like Tristan.

“Tristan,” the disembodied voice came back. “It’s Cade. We need to talk and we need to talk now.”

Chapter Four

The relief seeping through Ella’s system was so wonderfully intense, she almost laughed.

It hadn’t been Drago Scarpini buzzing for access at the Barkley gate. As was true of most bullies, Scarpini was a coward, a cockroach. He wouldn’t knock on Tristan Barkley’s door and expose himself like that, even to get to the person he obviously still viewed as a worthwhile payoff, she thought.

Then Ella saw Tristan’s face, his tanned complex-ion paler than she’d ever seen it. His nostrils flared as he stared at the floor, then he slammed the back of his fist against the wall.

Her stomach muscles clutched in reaction.

“Tristan?” she murmured.

He turned and glared at her as if she were the enemy. Then he dragged a hand through his hair and his savage expression eased slightly. “Ella, you can clear the table now.”

He stabbed a button to open the gates and seconds later a car rumbled up the drive.

Ella let out the breath she’d been holding. Whoever this visitor was, clearly he wasn’t welcome. But that wasn’t any of her business. She was an employee with a job to do and despite Tristan now knowing her dirty laundry, that hadn’t changed.

Running her hands down her sides, she concentrated on slipping back into professional mode. “Would you like me to bring coffee?”

When Tristan looked at her, his eyes were filled with fire—or was that hatred? “He won’t be staying that long.”

Tristan strode off to answer the front door while Ella calmed her frazzled nerves. What was the visitor’s name? Mr. Cade? She started toward the table and with leaden arms collected the dishes, then moved to the kitchen.

She’d never heard that name used in this house. But Tristan had a lot of business dealings to juggle. Some-times business relationships turned sour. Ella rinsed the dishes while her thoughts churned over Tristan and his visitor, then Scarpini and his phone call.

She dropped her head and cursed the ache in her throat. Oh, how she wished that man would drop off the edge of the planet.

A blind clattered against a kitchen window. Ella’s stomach gripped as her concentration snapped up. Her locked muscles relaxed when the scent of coming rain entered the room. Not an intruder, just a storm on the way.

Tristan preferred fresh air to air conditioning, but Ella hurried to close all the windows now, then remem-bered there were more open in the main living room where she’d vacuumed today.

A moment later, she thumbed on a living room lamplight and went to each window. After checking that the security system was still activated, she spun around and almost tripped over the vacuum cleaner she’d ne-glected to put away earlier. When she bent behind the settee to bundle up the cord, a man’s raised voice per-meated Tristan’s closed study door.

Crouched behind the settee, Ella froze as her heartbeat boomed a warning in her ears.

Move, Ella. This isn’t a position to be caught in.

About to escape to the kitchen, the study door swung open, slamming against the wall.

“Get it through your skull,” Tristan snarled, “I will never agree to your terms.”

“Never’s a very long time,” came that other deep and graveled voice.

“As far as I’m concerned, not long enough.”

Curiosity won out. Ella peered over the couch and saw her boss speaking with a man. His hair was a shade darker than midnight. He was tall, with a commanding presence similar to Tristan’s. The man stood angled toward her. Even at this distance she noticed his eyes, bright yet at the same time seemingly impenetrable…the color of scorched honey. As his gaze narrowed upon Tristan, the amber eyes flashed. But then he slapped his thighs, a gesture of defeat, and stormed away.

Ella slumped as the tension ran from her body. Seconds later, the front door thumped shut. As the echo thundered down the hall, Ella pushed to her feet at the same time Tristan strode past the room and spotted her.

He pulled up, his handsome face dark with fury. She’d never seen him so wild. In fact, other than last week when he’d thought some harm had come to her, Tristan had always kept his emotions well under control.

“Ella,” he growled.

She forced her rubbery lips to work. “Yes, Mr. Barkley?” How easily she slipped back to formalities. Suddenly she didn’t feel as if she knew him.

Tristan’s shoulders came forward, then he closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Would you pour me a drink, please?”

While she beat a path for the crystal decanter on its trolley beside his chess table, Tristan moved into the room and sank into the settee she’d crouched behind. When Ella handed him the drink, he thanked her and knocked back half.

Head back, he concentrated on the ceiling. “You know how you don’t like your brother?”

Drago Scarpini? She nodded. “Yes.”

“That was mine. How does the saying go? You can choose your friends, but you can’t choose your relatives.”

She knew Tristan had a younger brother, Josh. But he’d never mentioned anyone named Cade.

A shudder crept up her spine. She wanted to ask what had happened in that room, in their past, for the anger between them to be so strong.

Tristan answered her unspoken question. “Cade wants me to go back and work for the family business.”

“Which business?”

He flicked her a curious glance. “Barkley Hotels.”

“Your family owns that?”

He leaned forward, holding his Scotch glass between his knees. “I assumed you knew.”

He’d never mentioned it, nor had any one of the numerous guests he’d had to the house. Neither had she read anything in the magazines she flipped through.

Looking down, he swirled the liquor in his glass. “I don’t suppose you should have. It’s been a while since I left the company, and everyone and his dog knows the subject is banned from my ears.”

“Because of your brother?”

He eyed her as if she might be withholding some interesting secret. “Sit down, Ella. Here next to me. I need your advice.”

She couldn’t help it. She laughed. “My advice?”

He patted the cushion. “Sit.”

She sat. But, even with an arm’s length separating them, she felt it—the sexual charge arcing between them like a powerful magnet.

But Tristan seemed oblivious to the sparks and the pull. He was preoccupied with what had transpired in his study moments ago.

He took another sip and let the Scotch sit in his mouth before his Adam’s apple bobbed and he swal-lowed. “My brother’s getting married.”

“Cade’s getting married?”

“Not Cade. Josh. They’re as different as day and night. Light and dark. Josh wants Cade and me to mend our fences so we can play happy families at his wedding.”

“And that can’t happen.”

He looked at her as if she’d said something pro-phetic. “Exactly. I won’t forgive and forget.”

“Why do you need my opinion?”

“I’d like a woman’s point of view. Josh wants both of us to stand beside him when he says I do. I don’t want to hurt Josh. But whenever Cade and I are within a mile of each other, volcanoes erupt. If I don’t agree, I’ll let Josh down. If I do, I’m afraid I’ll hurt him even more.”

She saw his point. No one wanted a scene at a wedding. “Cade feels the same way?”

“Cade is the eldest. He sees it as his duty to keep the family together, which in his language translates into manipulating everyone to his agenda, including getting me back on board at Barkley Hotels.” Tristan huffed over a jaded smile. “You know what beats all?” His eyes grew distant. “I wish things were different between Cade and me. I always have.”

Instinctively she reached out and touched his arm. It was an eye-opener to see this vulnerable side to such a masterful man. But it only made her respect him more. He was human.

He loved, even when he thought it wiser not to.

Tristan blew out a weary breath. “It’s been one hellova day.”

When his gaze found hers, the distance in his eyes gradually crystallized into something here and now, and the kindling that seared down below whenever he was near leapt high. That blush spilled down her cheeks again and she began to push to her feet. She felt uncertain, so out of her depth.

“Ella, don’t run away.”

Pressing her quivering lips together, she lowered back down. “I thought you might want another drink. And the washing-up’s still there—”

“I don’t want a drink.” The hot tips of his fingers urged her chin higher. “I want to ask you another question. But there’s something I’d like to do first.”

That was all the warning he gave before he leaned forward and kissed her.

As his slightly parted lips lingered on hers—moist, soft, agonizingly inviting—shock set in at the same time fireworks exploded through her veins. A stagger-ing heartbeat later, instinct took over. A tiny whimper escaped her throat and she leaned in, too.

When his mouth gently left hers, in the shadowed light she saw his dark eyes gleam.

“That was nice,” he murmured, their lips all but touching. “We should have done this sooner.”

Cupping her nape, he brought her near again, and before she could wonder whether this was good, bad or simply necessary, she submitted fully, her mouth opening to welcome more of his caress, her mind shutting down to everything other than the crazy, magical sensation she’d always known this man’s embrace would bring.

Her hand inched up from his bicep, over his shoulder. Uncompromising masculine power. What would the sculpted rock of his body feel like beneath his shirt? What would she give to have him naked now as she’d seen him that morning?

But she wouldn’t run from him this time. This time she wanted him close, as close as two human beings could get.

Yet, as the kiss deepened and Tristan’s heat and hardness moved in more, Ella saw a flash of Cade Barkley and the emotion changed.

Even a man in control of his world could have an Achilles heel. Clearly Tristan’s was his family. He’d been knocked off balance tonight. She didn’t want this intimacy to go further simply because he needed to expend some pent-up energy and frustration. She didn’t want to surrender this part of herself to serve a purpose that had more to do with Tristan’s imminent need to dominate his environment and so much less to do with romance.

Breathless, she dragged herself away and mur-mured, “I’m sorry.”

She couldn’t meet his gaze. As desperately as she wanted to, she didn’t want to read whatever she might see shimmering in those hypnotic eyes.

His voice was low and rough. “No. I’m the one who should apologize. Like I said, it’s been a long day.” He pushed to his feet. “We can talk more tomorrow.”

As he left the room, Ella’s tummy fluttered.

Tristan might have apologized, but he didn’t say he wouldn’t do it again. And the hunger his kiss had awakened inside of her made her wish he would.

Chapter Five

The following evening, Tristan smiled to himself when heads turned as he escorted his date into the pres-tigious hotel’s grand ballroom.

He slid a glance at Ella’s profile, radiant in the subdued candelabra light. She wore her golden hair down in long, loose ringlets. The style complemented the serene quality of her bone structure—small straight nose, classic rosebud mouth, a complexion that confirmed good health.

Last night when they’d kissed—softly at first, then with growing passion—he’d lost himself in a moment that had felt so incredibly right. Although he’d pulled back when she’d asked, truth was, now that he’d had a taste, he couldn’t wait to have her in his arms again.

After her positive response to his kiss, he was certain Ella would pay attention to the proposition he had in mind. Sexual compatibility in a marriage was, of course, a necessity. The off-the-scale sizzle factor they seemed to share was a most welcome bonus.

They wove through the glitter and pomp of the highbrow crowd and reached their table. Tristan pulled out her chair, noticing six places at the round table were filled, but two, aside from their own, were still vacant. He took in the nearest place card, Herb Patter-son, the man he’d wanted to speak with tonight. When introductions were made around the table, Tristan was told Herb wouldn’t be attending.

Ella leaned close to whisper for his ears only, “That’s bad luck.”

Tristan pulled his chair in more. Perhaps, but he wasn’t upset because now he could focus his undivided attention upon the gorgeous woman seated beside him. Remembering that kiss, it was difficult not to sit a little closer, or find some excuse to touch her smooth, tanned skin, or to tell her about the proposition he had in mind—a civilized, sensible arrangement that should suit them both.

Following small talk around the table, which Ella handled superbly, entrée was served.

Above the lilting dinner music, Mrs. Anderson asked, “So, Ella, what do you do for a living? Do you model?”

Ella stopped buttering her bread roll to blink over at Mrs. Anderson. “Me? Model?” She looked as if she might laugh.

“Ella’s my housekeeper,” Tristan piped up.

Mrs. Anderson coughed on a mouthful of soup. “I beg your pardon? Did you say housekeeper?”

Tristan rested his hand on the back of Ella’s chair. “Her desserts are heaven on earth.”

While Ella’s smile said she was a little embarrassed by the attention, Tristan felt nothing but proud. From the expressions on the other men’s faces, they wished their help’s looks and charm compared. Housekeeper turned perfect special-occasion-partner. If things panned out, she’d become much more than that.

Ella and Mrs. Butler, who’d married a successful dot-com entrepreneur, struck up a conversation that lasted through mains. By dessert Ella was sharing recipes with the other women, who vowed to pass the secrets on to their own cooks and housekeepers. Betty Lipid suggested Ella put together her own celebrity cookbook.

Ella sipped her dessert wine. “I’m hardly a celebrity.”

Betty raised a brow. “But our Tristan is.” She directed her next words to him. “And might I say, you’re looking uncommonly well. All that good living?” She grinned. “Food, I mean.”

Tristan didn’t take offence. Let Betty Lipid and the others think what they would. In fact, soon he hoped their speculation over himself and Ella being more than employee and employer wouldn’t merely be gossip. The more he considered it, the more a proposal of marriage seemed to fit. She was attractive, poised, at-tentive, demure—he’d bet a bankroll Ella would make a great mother. He’d always envisioned himself with a big family of boys. He wanted to be the kind of dad his father had never been.

He took in Ella’s unsuspecting profile and his smile faded.

Her conversation with Mr. Scarpini last night was another reason this idea was a good one. Unless Scarpini was as stupid as he was cowardly, he would quit hassling Ella once he discovered her bystander-employer would soon become her protective husband.

Ella pushed away her mousse and held her stomach. “Delicious, but I can’t eat another bite.”

Tristan set his napkin on the table. “I’m done, too.”

When he stood and took her hand, a look of terror filled her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“They’re playing our song.”

He tugged and she reluctantly got to her feet. “We don’t have a song.”

“We do now.”

A step behind, she followed him out onto the dance floor. When he wound his arm around her, she stiffened, but as they began to move, her rigidity dissolved bit by bit. Positioned against each other like this, his body pressed lightly against her supple curves, he knew she was thinking about their kiss. So was he. He couldn’t wait to sample those honeyed lips a second, then a third time.

But he could wait…at least until he got her home.

“Have you spoken to your brother?” she asked.

Tristan frowned. If she’d wanted to temper his mood, it worked.

“No, we haven’t spoken,” he replied. “But I’ll need to, I suppose. Josh is holding a get-together tomorrow with his fiancée and her family. Cade will be there.”

Her grin was wry. “Good luck.”

Tristan’s palm traveled to the dip in her back. “Would you like to come?” he asked, swaying with her, enjoying the up close and personal contact more than she could know. With her alongside him, the family ordeal with Cade present wouldn’t seem half as un-pleasant, which was a bit of a revelation. He’d never felt so assured about a woman’s company before.

“Are they needing someone to serve?” she asked in-nocently, and he laughed.

“No, Ella, I want you to accompany me.”

She blinked and her sapphire eyes sparkled. “How will you explain me?”

He played with a frown. “How should I explain you?”

She trod on his toe and they both flinched. “How about as the woman who can’t dance to save herself?”

“You have other talents. You don’t need to dance well.”

She huffed good-humouredly. “At least you’re honest.”

“Not insensitive?”

“I can’t imagine you ever being that.”

Her lashes lowered and he gathered her slightly closer, smiling at the same feeling he’d experienced when he’d hired her months ago. This—she—felt right. Last night when he’d gone to bed, he hadn’t been able to shake the image of how good she’d looked in that pink bikini. Then the bikini had vanished and he’d imagined them together in his bed. The more he thought about it, the more he wanted it. Wanted her.

With his mouth resting against the shell of her ear, he murmured, “You look stunning in that gown.”

After a moment, she replied in a thready voice, “Thank you.”

“But you didn’t wear your earrings.”

He deliberately brushed his lips against her ear again and smiled as a tremor ran through her.

“I’m afraid they wouldn’t pass the ‘are they real or not’ test.”

He grinned. Yes, those sapphire drops he’d seen in the jewelry shop window would have looked perfect tonight. But perhaps Ella didn’t like sapphires. Some women preferred emeralds, others wanted only diamonds. He’d known a few women like that. “Do you have a favorite stone?”

“A gem, you mean? I’ve never thought about it.”

He heard the note of strain and uncertainty mixed with brewing arousal in her voice and realized how much pressure his palm had exerted on her lower back. He was aroused too, and Ella, as well as the area above her thighs, would no doubt have recognized the fact.

Not feeling nearly as contrite as he should, he said, “I’m making you uncomfortable.” She accidentally trod on his foot again. Hiding a wince, he pulled back and cleared his throat. “Would you prefer to sit down?

Her face was pained. “I think you would.”

He chuckled and admitted, “Next time I’ll wear steel-toe boots.”

“You’re a sucker for punishment.”

“It’s no hardship, believe me.”

No truer words had been spoken.

He wasn’t quite conscious of the movement, but as he smiled into her eyes, his head bowed over hers until her spine arched slightly back. He felt her intake of air and saw in her eyes…She wondered if he would kiss her again, here in front of everyone. And, God above, he was tempted.